There Will Come Soft Rains
by KaosCumberbatch
Summary: "Then my vision slowly went black. The way it does when you faint. Around the edges, it gets dark. And slowly it closes in until there's nothing. You blink and tell the nearest person 'I can't see.' And then you fall." - These genre options. smh. Enjoy ;)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Alrighty then. *cracks knuckles* So this will be 5 chapters (short ones) and I hope you like it. I may be editing it over the next few days because no. **Does not have an official title yet.** I was thinking of keeping "There Will Come Soft Rains" but, you know, Ray Bradbury. And this has nothing to do with nuclear weapons. Unless you go into a bunch of literary analysis and technical thinking. Symbolism and whatnot. Who knows, though. It could work...? I'm going to stop rambling now but let me know what you think in the comments. Hope you enjoy it! 20 and 4 x

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I visited him once. I told him about everything that was happening. About how I got a job I was fired from within a week and that girl I thought was more than just a one-night stand. I thought about how different my life would be if he were still here. How much better.

Then I started thinking about everything we ever did together. I thought about the things I never got to tell him and the things I said but didn't mean.

And I hid my face in my hands and I could almost feel him hugging me, trying to comfort me. It might have worked any other day. I reached out for him but he wasn't there.

Obviously he's not there. Don't be ridiculous.

It started to rain softly so I opened up my umbrella. I stood a moment longer but couldn't think of what to say. So, like always, I told him what I never got the chance to say when he was alive. I told him every time I went, just in case he was listening.

I held my hand out, feeling the rain. I like the rain. Love it, even. When you're in London, it's just something you have to get used to. Why not enjoy it?

I sighed and closed my umbrella, holding it at my side.

Screw it.

As I started walking away, it rained harder and the wind picked up. I didn't care. It didn't matter.

None of it matters.

I got back to the flat completely soaked. My shoes made squishing noises as I dragged my feet up the stairs. I went to the kitchen and made tea.

I stopped just before I walked out of the kitchen and looked down at my hands. Two full cups.

Wishful thinking.

I forget sometimes. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.

I felt a tear on my cheek as I turned and poured out both cups into the sink. I was rinsing them out when something caught my eye.

A little green bottle with those smooth, white pills that would make all this stop. It would make all the pain go away. All I would have to do is take a few extra and sleep. Just take some and… lie down for a bit.

No. I can't. I can't give up. That is weakness.

It is bravery to face death.

But not like this.

"Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?"

Maybe I am a coward. Maybe I'm stupid. But I can't take this much longer. I can't.

It would be so nice. So easy. It wouldn't even hurt.

My thoughts were interrupted when my phone rang. Lestrade. I shoved it back into my pocket. I looked back at the bottle. After a moment I opened the cabinet, took out a glass and filled it with water from the sink.

Lestrade called again and I ignored it. I laid my phone on the counter and opened the bottle. I took what was left and swallowed the six pills one at a time. I looked down at the floor.

It looks comfortable enough.

I slowly laid down and curled up on the tile.

Cold.

My eyes closed and my body fell limp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: **Maybe I'm too nice. Updating every few days. I wish I was meaner than I am but... Nope. Anyway... Chapter 2.

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Mrs. Hudson ran in and a tall, dark figure crouched beside my body. Everything was fuzzy and… almost colorless. Like there was a filter. I stood by the counter and watched as if it were a dream.

"John…" Sherlock held my body against his chest and I could almost feel his shaking breaths tickling my hair.

"John… Oh, God, no."

A lot of me had hoped that this was my imagination. I had hoped it was just one of those things in the movies where the person learns a lesson.

Or Derren Brown.

This was not my imagination. This was real. It was real and yet extraordinarily false. I could hardly believe it.

But it was too late.

I was dead.

Tears rolled down Sherlock's face and I crouched down, looking at myself. Watching myself die in his arms.

"No. Don't do this… Please, John."

I closed my eyes as he whispered and opened them again as he held my body tighter. As I was slipping away, I heard his voice echo in the center of my head.

"John!"

I watched myself take my last breath. Then my vision slowly went black. The way it does when you faint. Around the edges, it gets dark. And slowly it closes in until there's nothing. You blink and tell the nearest person "I can't see."

And then you fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Tiny chapter. But it's not over yet. Two more chapters coming. I am so weak I mean I update so often. Maybe you like that but my goal is to rip your heart out and drive you nuts. Obviously not working out so well.

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I suppose you want to know what it was that I told him. What I hadn't gotten to tell him before he fell. What I told him every chance I got before I slept. Everyone always asks.

But I'm afraid I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I can't. You'll have to ask him if you ever get the chance. But I cannot promise you he will say. He hasn't told anyone yet. A few people have asked about me. He usually turns and walks quickly away, his eyes drifting to the ground.

And, though I don't want him to die, I can't wait for the day I see him again. I hope he dies as peacefully as I did. As happy. In the arms of someone who means the world to him. Someone he loves with all his heart.

~John Watson


	4. Chapter 4

** Author's Note:** Second to last chapter! I really have nothing to say except that I hope you enjoy and keep reading until it's finished.

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"No. Don't do this… Please, John… John!"

His breath lightened and his body went cold. I hugged him against my chest as the tears fell down my cheeks. My best friend had just killed himself and it was my fault. Why did I have to fall? Why did I wait so long to come home? Why did I leave John?

John… My John…

Moriarty. Moriarty made me do it. I hate him.

I stood up and kicked the table, knocking over a chair, and ran my hands through my hair. I wanted to tear it out.

Lestrade tried to calm me down. I screamed at him, telling him to get out. As soon as the door shut behind him, I regretted it. I took a deep breath and looked down at John. I took the gun from my pocket and sat with him, my back against the wall. I pulled him up into my lap and looked down at his face. Kind. Loyal. Intelligent. Brave. Perfect. Everything I could never be.

I cocked the gun and one of my tears fell on John's shirt. I sighed, my breath shaking, and told him everything I never had the chance to before.

More tears forced their way out and ran down my cheeks. I took a deep breath and dried my face with the back of my hands. I leaned down to kiss his forehead and then sat up, looking around our flat for the last time. I looked down at him again before closing my eyes. I raised the gun to my temple, pressing the cold muzzle to my skin, and slowly pulled the trigger.

~Sherlock Holmes


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Do I post the last chapter an hour after the fourth?... yes...

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"Get out!"

I winced as a chair clattered on the floor. I stood for a second, watching Sherlock pull at his hair. I could tell he was truly broken. Not like when he can't figure out a case after he's worked on it without sleep or food for days. Not like when Moriarty had him at gunpoint. And even worse than when John was in danger.

I guess he just thought it would never happen. John would not be hurt.

Because he wouldn't allow it. He would burn ten times over before anyone laid a finger on him. Or Mrs Hudson.

Because he did care. Mycroft always tells me that he wished Sherlock would realize that caring is not an advantage. Sherlock may agree with that. But, in no way whatsoever, does that stop him.

So I went outside with a sigh and breathed in the cool London air. I waited to take him away.

I looked over at Donovan who was leaning against the car. She didn't seem to have much emotion. She never really did. Maybe that's not a terrible quality as a sergeant.

Mrs Hudson was sobbing silently. I went over and saw that she was shivering. I fetched a blanket to keep her warm and tried to comfort her a bit as I slowly stroked her arm.

Then we heard it.

A single gunshot.

Mrs Hudson sobbed louder and Donovan's mouth dropped open.

My heart fell to my stomach and I couldn't breathe.

"Oh my God…"

I ran back up to the flat with Donovan and at least five others behind me. Sherlock was in the kitchen, leaning against the wall with John in his lap. There was blood on his face and a gun lay next to his leg.

Jesus Christ. Why did I have to leave him alone?

I didn't know what to do. As a detective, you see people dead more often than you'd like. But after a while that initial shock fades. It never goes away completely, though.

Then you see something like this. Two of your best friends, laying on the kitchen tiles together. And that shock comes back.

And it's worse. Multiplied by a thousand.

And it hurts. The ache in your chest paralyzes you.

A few men came and moved their bodies out.

Still, I stood staring. I looked back and forth from the bottle to the gun to the phone.

Just like the first time. It started with a phone, pills, and a gun. And that's how it ended. At least here on earth.

There are heroes in this world. They don't fly around in tight pants and capes. Thank God. They are the people you trust. The people who are loyal and who never let you down. The people who may not be loved widely, but who are loved deeply. Your best friends.

The world lost two of them today, but I hope with all my heart that, wherever people go after this life, they are happy there.

~Gregory Lestrade


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